


The Elven Gift (4/4)

by In_Arcadia_IO



Series: The Elven Gift [4]
Category: LOTR FPS, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, LOTR FPS - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Arcadia_IO/pseuds/In_Arcadia_IO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the tale how Aragorn and Legolas first met, years before the Ring War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elven Gift (4/4)

The sun was already high in the sky when Aragorn awoke. He felt as if he had slept for ages. Strange dreams he had had. Darkness and light. Terror and … pure rapture. But no, these dreams could not have been real, he mused, only half-awake yet.

At that moment he felt a body shift against his own. An arm stretched lazily over his chest while someone put his head on the Ranger’s shoulder and nestled up closer with a small contented sigh.

His eyes still closed, Aragorn’s hand moved over the stranger’s back. Smooth, long hair spread under his fingers like a net of finely woven silk. He smiled when his fingers touched upon a thin braid. Instantly, he was wide awake.

It had all been real - the darkness and the pain, the feeling of deadly coldness gradually taking possession of his body, the ghostly phantom figures, beckoning to him with their arms stretched out wide while murmuring promises and hardly veiled menaces.

These frightening visions, however, grew weaker and weaker the more conscious he became. And finally they were replaced by quite different images: Legolas taking his hand and leading him down to a lake that was hidden deep in a mountain valley. The quiet waters were shimmering in the darkness, reflecting the light of moon and stars like myriads of precious stones. It was an enchanted place. Even the air was warmer here, whispering quietly in the trees.

“Nen-Anûn it is called,” the Elf explained, 'The Lake of the Warm Waters'. And it is here where I wanted to take you all along. Years ago we had an outpost in the forests surrounding this lake. It is said that these waters have healing qualities. Even though my folk are not subject to old age or sickness, we often came to this place as we enjoyed bathing here.”

Aragorn leant heavily against a tree behind him. “The touch of your hands alone has healing qualities,” he whispered. “You’re warmth. And light. The only light I can see in this world of shadows.”

Gently, the Elf’s hands slid down the Ranger’s shoulders and arms until they closed around the man’s cold fingers, grasping them firmly. Legolas’ face was serious, almost solemn. “I won’t let the darkness claim you, Aragorn. Not if by any means I can prevent it.”

Leaning in closer he lowered his gaze and, mesmerized, Aragorn watched how the Elf’s eyelashes fluttered. He’s a creature made from moonlight, too beautiful to be real, Aragorn thought and then he thought no more as their lips touched.

At first Aragorn only let himself be kissed, reveling in silky-smooth kisses that touched his lips so gently. But then their kisses deepened and to Aragorn it was as if his lips, as if his whole body, began to tingle.

“Look at me and leave the darkness behind you,” Legolas spoke, framing his companion’s face tenderly.

And all of a sudden there was light everywhere, enveloping Aragorn softly; as though he had stepped from the darkness into a brightly illuminated room. He could hardly believe what was happening. He only knew that the cold was gradually receding. At last.

But it was more than that. Aragorn not only began to feel warmth again, he was soon almost melting under the Elf’s hands. He was helpless when his coat was taken off and his clothes were unfastened. This time, however, Aragorn did not resist. He no longer wanted to.

At some time or other they must have sunken down to the ground. Aragorn smelled heather and ferns, humid earth. The soil was soft and damp under him, leaves wet and slippery against his back.

The dull ache that had plagued his body for so long seemed to be subsiding. Finally his senses were returning, heightened and sharpened. Each sensation was overwhelming, each touch excruciatingly intense - the gentle breeze on his skin, Legolas’ hair falling down on him as the Elf kissed his way down his throat, the feel of rough leather against his bare chest, tormenting him sweetly.

Soon he grew restless under the Elf. Without thinking what he was doing, as if his hands had a will of their own, he began to undo Legolas’ tunic, craving nothing more now than feeling skin against skin.

“My friend,” he gasped, looking up into Legolas’ face, “I do not understand this. Is it an Elven spell? How can this be happening to me? To us?”

Silently Legolas shook his head and placed a finger on Aragorn’s mouth to quiet him. Then he sat up, straddling the Ranger’s hips. For a long moment he looked down on the man, studying him intently. The green-brown leather tunic had slipped half-way down his shoulders exposing an erect nipple that stood out darkly against his pale skin. His fair hair was tangled and wild and suddenly there was something utterly foreign in his eyes, unsettling and almost frightening.

“Who are you?” Aragorn asked bewildered, still breathing hard.

It was as though a cloud rushed over the Elf’s face, but then he smiled again. “I am your friend, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You have nothing to fear.”

Aragorn reached up, his thumb resting on Legolas’ lower lip. From there he traced a line across Legolas’ body, down to the spot where the elf’s tunic opened, his muddy fingers leaving a dark trail on the white flesh.

“I was not afraid of the darkness. I do not fear the light either.”

Legolas’ eyes flashed up, midnight blue, so very dark now. This look alone made Aragorn burn, heat pooling low in his body. He drew the Elf down on him and began kissing him again, hungrily, breathlessly. Then he rolled him over, crushing the lean, sinewy body under his weight.

Legolas arched up to him, his head thrown back. He sighed when their bodies slid against each other, the friction enflaming them even more.

They were both panting now, desperate to touch and be touched. Before long their remaining clothes were gone, stripped off in a wild haste. Fallen leaves clung to their backs and there were tiny crushed heather flowers in Legolas’ hair. Their bodies were covered with sweat and dirt. But none of this mattered to Aragorn, only the touch of Legolas’ fingers, slick with saliva, closing around him with such skill, touching him in a way that completely undid him. More quickly than he could have ever imagined. Aragorn clasped the Elf’s shoulders tightly. His features were twisted but no longer in pain, and his breathing became ragged. “Legolas …,” he cried. And then he came.

Legolas held him, felt him shiver and tremble, and then grow still again. He closed his eyes and listened – to Aragorn’s heartbeat, to the wind in the trees and to the forest that sang to him with countless familiar voices. He smiled.

After a while, Aragorn stirred again. In wonder he looked at the Elf and his voice was no more than a whisper. “What are you doing to me?”

The Elf bent over him, cautiously laying a hand on the thin white scar next to Aragorn’s collarbone and placed a gentle kiss there.

“This is only the beginning.”

Kneeling down he nudged the Ranger’s legs apart, his hands on Aragorn’s thighs. This touch, as light as it was, made the man shiver again and filled him with a need he hadn’t known before.

“You want this, do you not?”

A shiver ran through Aragorn's body at the sound of that low, husky voice. “Yes, I do,” he answered.

“Yes. You do,” Legolas repeated. Little by little, taking his time, he pried the man’s lips apart. Tasting himself on the Elf’s fingers set Aragorn rapidly on fire again. Sucking, licking the archer’s calloused digits, he caught himself imagining it was not Legolas’ fingers that slipped in and out of his mouth wetly. His hands came down on the Elf’s long, smooth back, pressing the lithe body against him. Legolas moaned loudly when their erections met, grinding his hips against the Ranger’s firm body.

Aragorn groaned when the Elf withdrew his fingers.

“Are you sure?” Legolas breathed.

And Aragorn could only nod before his mouth was claimed again and slick fingers invaded him. First one, then two, then three, touching him in way he had never been touched before. Soon, Aragorn was writhing under the Elf’s skilled fingers; but before he came undone again Legolas stopped, kissing him tenderly.

Aragorn’s eyes shot open when the Elf’s fingers slipped out of him. Enthralled he watched how Legolas began to coat himself with what was left from the man’s semen. While Legolas’ gaze, in turn, was fixed on Aragorn, drinking up the deep grey as if in a trance. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much. I won’t do anything that you do not want.”

“I want it, “answered Aragorn, gasping as white-hot pain shot through him when the elf opened him up even more. Slowly. Very slowly. But Aragorn had never experienced something like this before, had not expected that it would hurt that much.

He opened his mouth, intending Legolas to stop, but found he could not. Could not speak. Could hardly breathe. He tried to set his mind on other things instead: Legolas’ skin that felt smooth and damp under his hands, pale perfection stained by dirt and muddy fingerprints.

Suddenly, however, the pain transformed itself into something else; a blaring red devouring the numbness, consuming him entirely, burning away all remains of the darkness. Deeper Legolas thrust into him, gripping Aragorn’s hips firmly, deeper and faster, no longer a serene vision of perfection, but a wild creature from the woods, beautiful beyond words.

Aragorn struggled to keep his eyes open, trying concentrate on Legolas’ gaze as though that would keep him anchored, desperately seeking something to hold on to. Nothing else existed around them anymore, caught as they were in the deep quiet in the eye of the storm.

Enraptured Aragorn watched a tiny drop of sweat roll down the side of Legolas’ face, saw the archer’s firm muscles flex and contract and white flesh shimmer wherever the moonlight touched it. And each thrust sent him closer to the edge.

It was Legolas’ scream of release that finally sent him tumbling into the void. When Legolas’ eyes fluttered shut Aragorn lost his anchor. He fell down from the sky like a blazing star, burning brightly.

Only to be caught up again in Legolas’ embrace.

For what seemed a small eternity they lay in each other’s arms, feeling weightless, like clouds drifting over green meadows.

“Come,” Legolas whispered after a while, taking the Ranger’s hand. “The lake awaits us.”

From that point on Aragorn’s memories began to fade. He only remembered that he had felt very tired then. Vaguely he remembered their bodies touch and float in the warm water. It was like in a dream.

Aragorn opened his eyes, the bright sunshine made him blink. Except that it had not been a dream.

He felt Legolas stir under his hands and wake up almost instantly.

“Legolas …”

The Elf raised his head. He seemed wide awake. His eyes were clear, but his expression was unreadable. Instantly Aragorn knew that something was wrong. Had his companion come to regret what had happened during the night? His heart sank low.

Tenderly he laid a hand on the side of the Elf’s face. “I owe you my life, Legolas. You saved me from the darkness.”

The Elf did not answer. Abruptly he sat up, blinking his eyes.

“What is it?” Aragorn touched the Elf’s shoulder. They both wore their clothes again. The place where they had spent the night, hidden under thick shrubbery, had sheltered them against wind and cold, but it was early autumn already and the nights no longer warm enough to spend undressed. Aragorn caught himself wondering how the Elf’s skin would look under the light of the sun …

Legolas turned around and there was a sad smile on his lips.

“Now you know what the Gift of Life is and it fills my heart with happiness that I could give you this gift. But … “. He paused for a moment and turned away. “The gift I received in return was not what I expected.”

“What …? What have I done?” Aragorn asked, seeking to catch Legolas’ eyes again.

The Elf looked down on his hands and it took a while before he continued.

“You gave yourself to me just as unconditionally as I gave myself to you,” he said. “How can I find the words to express what I felt last night? When I was one with you. Enclosed deep within you.”

He finally returned Aragorn’s gaze and there was a tiny quiver around the corners of his mouth. “It is a bitter gift though. It reminded me of what I could have had with Findarin had I not lost him. And it showed me what I can never have again as you are bound already. This gift tastes of death.”

“No, Legolas, no. It’s not like that!”

“So tell me then, my friend. Explain to me how it really is.”

Aragorn inhaled deeply.

“It is true,” he admitted. “I cannot promise you anything, Legolas. Yet I will never forget this night and I don’t want you to forget it either, nor come to regret what has happened. It is not true that this gift tastes of death. How can that be? You said it yourself: it’s the Gift of Life. Given freely and out of love. And …”

“Words,” the Elf cut him off abruptly. “Words spoken by a Man. Just as transitory and fleeting as your whole existence.”

“If words fail me,” said Aragorn. “I will have to find other means to show it to you. Hear me, Legolas,” gently, he raised the elf’s chin. “My life may be fleeting, but my feelings are not. Let me prove it to you. Let us stay here one more day before we continue our journey. And be together as we may never be again. “

Legolas looked at him still hesitant. “What is a day? Gone just as quickly as a butterfly stirs its wings.”

“Imagine we were both killed tomorrow – it would be everything we had. Eternity is far away. But we are here now.”

Legolas sighed. “Why did it have to be you? A mortal? There were others, both men and women. I lost them over the course of centuries, one by one. Eternal bounds are rare, I should know that now. Still I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

Aragorn brought Legolas’ hand to his heart and held it. “You shall not lose me. Only through death.”

For a long while the Elf sat there, motionless and silent. Finally he turned to his companion again. The sadness on his fair face hurt Aragorn more than he could say.

“What do we know of what the future may bring? I’d rather accept that today is all that we will ever have, than spending years in regret again. Mourning that I didn’t seize the moment when it was there.“

“So be it,” said Aragorn, taking the Elf’s hands and brought them to his lips.

***

Years later, each time the darkness was closing around him again, when all hope seemed lost, the memory of that day kept shining up in his mind. Like a ray of sunshine from far, far away. He remembered the light in Legolas’ eyes on that day; how the drops of water had glistened on the Elf’s white skin after they had come back from bathing in the lake and how they had lain together again. And again. For even then they had known they would never wake up in each other arms again.

After that Aragorn wandered alone for many years. Numerous trials and tribulations he had to pass before the Shadow was finally overthrown and he came to his right again. Through all hardships the Elf stayed at his side, a silent presence of strength, endurance and hope. And even in the midst of battle when the enemy’s forces threatened to overwhelm them by wild wrath and sheer multitude catching Legolas’ eyes for only a moment sufficed to let him find courage again.

The Elf never left him; till the very end he followed his King and beyond.

Only once did he come too late.

The King had sent out for his friend, but roads made impassable by spring floods and mud slides delayed his return and so he arrived at the White City to find only his Queen. The moment he saw her, dressed in black, all light gone from her eyes, he knew that this one time he had failed.

“My lady,” he said bowing, overwhelmed by grief, the world around him perishing behind veils of tears.

Her lips quivered. “He said that the time had come. I couldn’t change his mind.”

“I knew it,” Legolas muttered tonelessly. “I knew it when I took my leave that this time it would be forever. When he … “, he broke off abruptly.

“When he kissed you farewell,” she added. “I saw it. Don’t let it trouble you. I knew it all the time. And never held it against you. Nor against him. How could I? You loved him like I did, with all your heart and all your soul. How could he not love you back? And without you he wouldn’t have lived to become King, that’s what I know from him. The darkness and the shadows would have claimed him far before his time.”

She took his hands in hers, such cold hands she had, and bade him to get up again. “I owe you all my joy and all my happiness. Though both are gone now. And nothing is left for me but bitterness and pain and silent suffering.”

“I wished it wasn’t so,” Legolas said. “To love a mortal is a bitter choice indeed.”

“It is. He’s sleeping, fading already, while we linger, still young and beautiful, though our hearts are old and weary and we cannot die. Not yet. Man’s gift is so hard to accept.” She looked at him with endless sadness. “What will you do now?”

“There is nothing left for me here anymore. I cannot walk these streets anymore knowing he is no longer there. I will build a ship in Ithilien to take me over the sea.”

Arwen nodded silently. “He asked me to give you this. He wanted to give it to you himself, but there was no more time …”

From the folds of her dress she came up with a small wooden box, adorned with intricate carvings and designs tiny as it was.

“I don’t know what it is nor what’s inside, I only know he had it all his life and whenever he held it and looked at it his eyes shone brightly. Take it. It belongs to you, Legolas.”

Legolas looked at the small object in wonder. “As bitter as it is now, my lady, we have both made the right choice. Maybe you’ll meet him again beyond the circles of this world. And if you do, tell him … tell him … “ he could speak no more and turned his face away.

“I will tell him,” Arwen replied and gently swept the tears from his face. “Namarie.”

***

“Tell me what you see,” Gimli said. “Describe it to me.”

“I don’t see anything yet,” Legolas replied. “We’re still far away. But look, the sun’s rising; it’s just coming up over the horizon.”

“What is it you hold in your hands?”

“It’s a gift,” said Legolas quietly and opened the box.

The box contained nothing but a few dried up heather flowers, almost turned to dust.

Seeing them, Legolas smiled.

And in that instant a green country rose before them from the waves, silverbright and beautiful.

*The End*


End file.
